"I have sketched out thirteen," said he firmly, "but I confess that
the next ten are so embryonic in this year 1907 that I cannot sing
them in public." He hesitated a moment, then added: "They have many
fine single lines, but there is as yet no composition or unity about
them." And as he recited the words "composition" and "unity" he
waved his hand about like a man sketching a cartoon.
"Give me, then," said I, "at any rate the last two." For I had
rapidly calculated how many would remain of his scheme.
He was indeed pleased to be so challenged, and continued to sing:
_And once atop of Lambourne Down, towards the hill of Clere,
I saw the host of Heaven in rank and Michael with his spear
And Turpin, out of Gascony, and Charlemagne the lord,
And Roland of the Marches with his hand upon his sword
For fear he should have need of it;--and forty more beside!
And I ride; and I ride!
For you that took the all in all..._
"That again is weak," I murmured.
"You are quite right," he said gravely, "I will rub it out." Then he
went on:
_For you that took the all in all, the things you left were
three:
A loud Voice for singing, and keen Eyes to see,
And a spouting Well of Joy within that never yet was dried!
And I ride!_
He sang this last in so fierce and so exultant a manner that I was
impressed more than I cared to say, but not more than I cared to
show.
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